placed

I wanna feel this virgin moment, to depart the western world. At and by a place no one has acceded yet. Discover a place, hasn´t been touched by a white – beside the fact, that the place was founded by the people called natives, tribes, communities, farmers, local bums, whoever. Where no one speaks english. What an adventure!
We, the travelers, wanna find that place, on foot, by taxi, boat, plane or by a guide, had to promise that no tourist has seen that place before. There must be that kind of a place, waiting for us, to get venomed by our appearance. Keeping the wheel, the vicious circle, of tourism turning.
Expecting something rural, primarily, back to the roots, instead of we are cutting the tree to eat the fruits. I find myself in this dialectic hunger, a labyrinth of wrong paths, desires and sensationalism. I hope i will change. Feel a deep sadness about that minds crossing my road. It´s kind of seperating, splitting men into races. Don´t wanna feel and act like a racist in it´s beginning. But I do. Still. While trying to move in awareness of respect.
Uncover that places suprises the expactations. In a similar way menkind is isolating his nature from the nature, the humanness from so called other humans. I´d loved to be without efforts of narcissism and ignorance. As a consequence I´d to leave my camera and stop publishing. Or maybe discover a way on that wrong way. Maybe that´s the real strike. Accepting that there will be never a way out and find a way in.
Just travel by myself and for myself. Not trying hard to avoid tourism. It´s not about where you are, it´s about who you are and why you are there.
We are all travelers.
We are all racists.
We will never be humans, because we are humans.
Maybe its kind of an instinct. Maybe it´s the impact of issues of media, capitalist systems and religion, instructing that we have to be someone, reach something, be different, be individual. Search and exploit, handing the discovery over to industrialization.
Searching for a moderate claim to finish.
Still searching…

odd

Last night in Bangkok, for now. Young skinny loony mastered vampire, eyebrows up like wings of a bat, furious dark hairfire, suck sucking sucker of a burmese ladyboy, kept telling me he is not gay at all. And the sexy lady next to me, whispering her desire to lay down with me in bed, just for hugging. Escaping the lady, sacrificing the ladyboy, feeling his knees tremble at my toes. Good Riddance! I was too drunken. Appreciate the Sang Som, again.
Overslept. Waked up in disorder, gathering, focusing, rised in a moment of shock, felt like bounced against a bar of perception. My flight is today!
Two hours left to tight me, myself and my backpack, splattered on the floor of the four walls hotel room. Check my creditcards again at the ATM near Khao San. Spent the last two days calling my bank back so called home and going to again and again. And again. Probably tried all kinds of, ATMs, Exchange counters, banks, business banks, international banks, just to get the message, call your bank. I got it at the first time! My beloved bank told me in a very friendly and naiv way that i should be fine and try again maybe tomorrow. What kind of tomorrow you mean? The tomorrow when i start my new carreer as a beggar or what? So today is tomorrow. Still. Doesn´t work at all. Fuck the banks. Fuck money. Fuck rushing around. It´s all about that worst addiction plastic shit, cracking my asshole. I was getting paranoid. Is this kind of curse? Caused by my negative approach about Bangkok? Or is it because of my black cross upside down shirt? Does the government want to get rid off me because i drink all the Sang Som? Or is this fate, tries to tell me not to leave to Yangon. And i just will, and will remember that moment, as i didn´t listen to fate, saving my life, toothbrush whatever.
In Myanmar only cash is real, no plastic, that´s their – the travel pimps – advice. Because you never know what´s happening in a country like this. 8 years ago, i was part of this political game, but today, changed a lot and fast.
I am so pissed. More about myself then the rest. Why i didn´t take a third creditcard with me? WHY? I feel like a busted falling traveller down to the ground, to reality.
Will i be tomorrow in Yangon? Will i survive Myanmar? Will i get money there? I am surely be too proud to ask other farangs to run a money deal and supporting my pace back on the road.
Will i?
Do i have to… what?
I am sick of these browsing questions in my head, zombies of lost security, transformed utopia of a certain upright life.
I have to do NOTHING!
I will do what i want.
Pock that in your fucking head, brainmachine!
Nothing is hastening, not time nor my feet should.
It´s all about present. Should be.
Maybe that´s kind of the weight you have to take care of by travelling lonesome and it comes to money. Feel like a black honking donkey.
Will i catch my flight?
Of course, easy, i catched. The lady at the hotel told me i will be ok taking the minibus two and a half hour before departure. Bus takes only one hour. Trip through the metal smoking traffic jam of Bangkok made me start thinking different. After 65 minutes i was standing in front of the baggage desk. Right now sitting in the Air Asia Boeing. Now everybody can fly. The slogan of the aircraft, forced me to imagine a kid nosing down hundreds of screams in a rice field.
Leaving Bangkok feels so liberating. And i am also kind of proud, haven´t visited one Waht, royal place or Buddha posing for flashlights. Proud cause i don´t feel disappointed about at all. Never wanted to be a traveler, adventurer or tourist. I am all of it and less. You never see all sights, there will always be one more, more authentic, more local, more of the most wanted. The advantage of that? I can do what i want to and i will always be a boring conversational partner with other farangs. I can´t advise you anything, and then, the best at the end, i was here more than 8 years ago. Yes. That was technical K.O. – Wow! That must be like totally different in comparison to today. I didn´t thought you are that old, you look so young.
K.O.
I can show you how to drink with locals or gettig around with no maps and guides, getting lost and don´t feel like a shadow of your own, fearing the dark side of the void.
Where are your from?
Where have you been?
Where will you go?
Where are the hidden tracks? Have you found some?
You know what? Drink. Shut up. Drink. Or leave, just leave. Or even better, don´t start to chat with me. Yes. Again. One more day without talking to someone.
I am disgusted by farangs and to be one of them, it´s like a second skin, which you can´t burn, even by the sun. I start to deny, deny being not in my home country.
Conclusion: nearly missed wake up calls, buses, flights, responsibility, awareness or my promise to take care of myself.
Solution: Stop drinking. Start to be focused. Start to share the ego, maybe it will stop mutating me from the inside.
I am a louzy traveler, don´t have a map, a lonely planet or a kind of backgrounds about countries i stay. But, so, i can´t dispute at all.
Mybe i should just shut up.
I will.
I have to.

swamping

Noisy dirt. Streets soaked in crowds. Water channels. Bridges. Bridged sewerage. McDonalds. Burger King. Starbucks. No fakes. Army of stalls. It´s a fakes world. Miles and Miles. Shoemakers. Shoeblacks. Sew service. Tailors. Garages. Blocked Specialisation. Vibrators. Spanish flies. Porn. Censored youporn. Blockbusters. Hollywood. Bollywood. Barbies. The royal family. Buddhas. All kinds of, looking like a Disneyland edition. Toys. Toys and more toys. Fruits of all shakes. Fins of sharks. Jaws of sharks. Shark soup. Insects, deep fried. Scorpions, deep fried. Wind of no change. Deep fried everything of anything. Travelers. Adventurer. Snoops. Beggars. With or without limbs. Sleepers. Peepers. Reapers. SS Hotel. 7 11. German? Hitler! More Chang. More cigarettes and smokers. Ping Pong. Soccer. Basketball. Modern architecture. Colonial-style. No architecture. Parks with open air bodybuilding cages. Tuk tuks for whatever you want to transport, your crew, your furniture, kids, ripped to a collage of school uniforms.
Bangkok has it all.
I can´t imagine that there is something you don´t get here – excluded silence. Even the AC seems to vomit.
And i am… maybe just fake.

identified

Finding a new answer to “Where are you from?”

You are from Holland?
You are Polish?
You are from the US?

I started to answer, “As i left, I lived in munich”. Would feel more comfortable with, “I was born in germany.” Feels more authentic, supporting my no-more dream to be part of the world, no nationality, least of all no patriotism
or nationalism. Eventough life starts between borders and if you take a look at the eyes, you don´t have to ask, i pretty sure most of the local people here would change with my life, no doubt, without having a notion of it.
I would.
I am now four weeks on the road, not even started to be on the road, till now feels more holiday. Started to think about what is the difference of travel and holiday or doesn´t fit the word travel at all? My passport is the insurance to travel like i am on holiday. My emotions are more like rather die than go back home, and i have an insurance for that as well. Eventhough i sometimes miss home. Thinking about that fact, i realize, can´t name the place called home. Home stucked in the feeling of missing. Something. Not safity, not routine, maybe my local pub and of course my friends. But I prefer the options to meet people as friends. To be more as i was. Not someone different. Somebody with whom i didn´t get in touch before. Forcing my social desires. No borders, no frontiers. Just be without thinking why. Day by day. As long as my feet holding ground. Then lossing ground, stepping forward.
It´s wednesday noon and i had a soup at the street and now a beer at one of this thousands of tourist places in Bangkok.
Arriving at Bangkok is still a pain in the ass.
I need an ATM.
Because without money, you are not even a where-you-from.

– Really? You don´t look german.
– Thank you!

anchored

– Where? Here? (Laughing. Nang points between here eye-brows)
– No no. Here. (Pointing on my left area of the receding hairline) On the heart-side.
– Ooh, really?
– Why not?
– You are sure?
– I was never sure. (presenting my body. Laughing.)
– Ok. I understand. (presenting here serious way of modifying)

Nang, a middle-aged handsome and energetic woman, mother of a son, is part of the Tattoo Club Koh Phangan since 8 years, runned by 3 different studios, all located in the same street, Soi Krung Thai, in the center of Thongsala.
She`s performing now for about 4 years as bamboo artist, the only female one on the island. Never used the machine. – If she can remember any special tattoos? … One inside the (bottom) lip of a women. And a mustache on this (middle) finger, because she was model. Very funny. … I also did here body. (refering to a women, the skin stretcher, sitting on the other couch, ) She said you can have all my body.
The lady turned around kind of shy. And after a giggle she lift here shirt and showed a spiritual tattoo, round and flowered with small symbols. For Protection. I am leaning forward. Show is over. The lady bashful rubs here belly and smiles kindly.
The Club runs also a very nice hidden paradise, named Tattoo Garden. Beside one studio a small entrance opens a beautiful green space, small bungalows, animals, wooden balconies and a small stage, lined by circling bamboos, in the center for jamming. They don´t book bands, they just came by and say hello.
5 artists are working at the Tattoo Club, 4 checking tattoos, one piercer. Nang. For 10 years now.
But you are not born here, right? No, i am born North East of Thailand, on the countryside, very normal.
Why are you staying on Koh Phangan? … Many People around here, from all around the world, different countries. I like talking to them and I like to go around the world sometimes.
They offer also a more spiritual way of tattoo art made by bamboo. Nang is not a spiritual person.
– No. I am not no no.
She is laughing.

Thank you Nang, for this wonderful memory.

Foto-1

Actually it was my second tattoo i get on this island. My first one, 2006, caused by a motorbike accident with my sister, visiting me. Koh Phangan Tattoo they call it, the scar from an infected wound, suppurating in my left leg.

Foto

homie

– Ich war vorher an deinem Bungalow. Du hast aber nicht ansprechbar ausgesehen.
– Echt du warst da? Komisch. Und ich dachte, dass du da warst… dass jetzt Besuch kommen würde und ich entspannt mich mal für fünf Minuten in die Matte schlage!
– Ja, hab dann beim Weggehen eine Wasserflaschen herunterfallen gehört. Waren dann aber weniger als 5 Minuten.
– Dachte ich mir, dass du das gehört hast. Warum biste nicht zurück?
– Ach ich musste dann was anderes machen. Hab ich vergessen.
– Ok.
– Genau! Gitarre hab ich gespielt.
– Dann wars ja gut, dass ich meine Kopfhörer aufbehalten habe.

Founded a great musician and companion at Shambhala Bungalow Village. And a delicious spaghetti cooker. Of course a best manager of a very relaxing place, highly recommended.
And a friend.
No. Two.
No four!
Four weeks.
Four friends.
And not the unspecial ones.
And lots of love.
See you next.
Crossing roads.

Thanks for a start in stylisch chaos.

– Do you know what i mean? Stylisch?
– No. What? Stülich!
– Who cares.
– Me? Not.
– Stylisch meinte stilvoll. Stilvolles Chaos. Chaos mit Stil. Klingt beides beschissen.
– Ja, tut es.
Browsing languages.

Shut up you german dudes! Can you imagine? This transformation? German dude? I can. Just forget the bathrobe, you just need your underwear. – Ah i hate this word in my scripts. So forget about the german dudes.

So. Many many lovely thanks for an chaotic peaceful countdown to my first move.
Going to Bangkok.
You coached so well! – Everybody coaches, get teached, teaches, and even though this are just words, if you listen to, you understand more. Couldn´t be worse, right? Instead of commanded by the best ones.
That´s part of moving.
On the road. Again.
So let´s get rid of this touchy blasphemic romantic shit. – Also part of moving, leaving places. Not commanded yet how to react.
And NOW P-A-C-K the bag!
But not again, first time, on travel.
Before, back home, that was only a dress rehearsal.
Bangkok.
I like this new door.
Stepping on a new stage. It´s nearly 8 years ago last time.
Taking the ferry to Surrathani, up north by train to Bangkok.

4 days ahead to Bangkok. While i am writing these words, i am in my hammock on the balcony, floating, listening to music and i feel… well i don´t care about words you might be delighted. There is no word for that.

magic

Satanic crickets, black army of metal sawing high tweeters.
Spiders with a penis hat, one ball below forcing eight pubes apart.
A bumy browsing saurian, 1,60 m long, dull in his motivation to move his sack of a reptile, flicking his tongue.
White magic trees whispering in a salty blob of sweat.
Plastic laterns, guiding the way to paradise.
Great views on the heavily greened interior.

It´s a great hike to Bottle Beach.
After taking the wrong path, signed in Siamese, climbing up thirsty rocks of waterfalls, following dead end by dead end, abandoned the idea of falling, mastered to explore the entrance, a hidden one, diverting from the dirt road, passing the Coconut Beach Bungalow, after about 500 m.

And again, forgot the towel.

IMG_0374

IMG_0350

IMG_0320

IMG_0326

IMG_0339

IMG_0360

IMG_0347

balanced

Peering at the calm sea
a beaten level wild
resting chomatose.
Landscape is nothing.

Do i feel hapiness?

It´s all about your landscapes inside,
your layers of diversity, block of doom
and pleasure, criticism and sin.
Joy.
Passion.
Desire.
Nobody desires war, crimes, cruelty.
Everybody accept hope.
The satisfaction of peace.
Somewhere beyond horizon.
Enough to loose everything and imagine the truth,
another expression for reality,
meaning imagination,
looping in belief.
There must be something out there.

I just feel calm.

Landscape is nothing.
The endless sea inside me,
such as the wicked safety of the shore.
Earth.
Stand.
Dirty lousy piles of a goat´s asshole!

I just feel like an outsider of my inside.
There must be something out there.
But i don´t know if it´s good.

heated

So fuckin freakin hot, beyond belief.
I no longer can´t differ the rusty chirr of the cricket´s army from the sustained squeak of the lamely wings of the fan, differ with a cognitive ability.
The raising air weakens after some sort of spirals in the nowhere right beyond the fountain.
I don´t know how to lie.
I don´t feel like lying, more like a fly trapped in glue.
Thinking about the evening, desire the breeze of cooling, leaving pulverulent sand trickling through the hair coated back.
Left-behind a far-off tone of froth.
Even this tone sounds like a red booming metal machine. Merciless blast of a furnace.
It´s all flowing. Creeping. Melting.
I am adopting things around my body, getting touched by.
Sand. Sheet. Pillow. A peace of peanut´s wrapping.
Awakening up as a salted Golem.
It´s wonderful and melty, not wonderful melty.
00:38.
The sand is perfect for peeling the mosquito bites on the sheet.
In the bungalow next door a women is puking.
Maybe hot steam.
Puking in this heat. Jesus. You haven’t the faintest idea!
00:40.
And nothing more.
Just how it is.
Awaiting less…
Dumb froth.
Is it possible to fuck in salty water?
On the mattress, won´t work out. You find yourself in a kind of leaking waterbed.
Sometimes it´s best to be alone.
Sweating.
Just sweating.
Sweat in Sweat out.
Why i didn´t got myself drunken again. I would have a sleep now. No dreaming. Just sleeping.
Tomorrow the whole will have been soaked by the sheet. Including myself. Like the night the froth.
Where is daylight, i wanna get a bottle of Sang Som.
00:53.
No sex. No beer.
Women puking next door.
That´s my world!
I think it´s a pretty steamy one.

Foto

howling

Embracing the earth, lying on the ground with a feeling of weight and floating. Mindless.
Did i really left my knife at home?
Did i puke?
Last night everything was possible. It could have happened annything. But nothing.
Just music. Electronics everywhere.
The heat today is outstanding, no it´s all over, just here, stucked, in windlessness. The plamtrees seem to be postered. No fluffy leaves rattling.
I am still flashed.
There is that picture.
Of a japanese couple, embracing touchy in full moon, in the spume of the smooth sea, kissing softly, like a butterfly the air. It was just perfect there.
Fuck it´s so hot today.
Apart from that, embracing a female body would be also kind of an attraction. Just this icecube-classy stuff, i wouldn´t miss anything else. Now! In the cooling breeze of the fan.
Nothing happened.
Who cares.
Back to reality, whatever that means.
A day after full moon.

Foto

rock

Ride to the moon!
Supported by the famous local rock heros: TAXI & the name of the second band i missed, it was not written anywhere, not in roman alphabet, not on Facebook, not by a pyrotechnical performance into the sky.
Sounds like Rock. It´s rock. Well, Thai Rock. Maybe with too much western attitude on stage. But not bad at all. Just same same.
Police having their dinner between. Beer service by handsome Thai girls. Foreign Biker Clubs. Local Biker Clubs. Foreign Bikers with Thai wives. Local Bikers with foreign wives.
15 minutes acceptance speech in between. Only got about a hundred time of “krap”, the very polite male expression saying thanks, equivalent of saying sir or madam.
The area was huge, not half crowded. But seems that nobody had expected different.
So, a usual Biker festival, drinking whiskey, 40 Inch towers of beer, splitting chickens fried or not and maybe it was turning into a party late-night, like bikers practice in our imagination.
I left before.
Although would go there again, maybe next year, but then without motorbike i have to care about.

violent

Traveling by your own and watching couples.

You choose with whom you like to talk or just stay overbold.
You gettin not picked up by couples or groups or a group of couples feeling sorry about your lonesome attitude. You getting picked up, because they have to talk to someone else as their partner in spe. “You wanna join us?” “May i join you? – And my partner?” It´s like taking hitch hikers, you never now what´s hidden in the woods.
You don´t have conversations about what to eat, where to eat and when. Neither about leaving places or new destinations. You leave. Or stay. Eat or starve. Mind your own farts.
Sex is not an issue. So you can´t get angry about not to have one.
You don´t have to be worried about the abbility to feel comfy. You be or not and if not, nobody blames, worries or fucks you up more.
You don´t getting glued in the middle of the night because you felt like embracing a moment of happiness. And get a kick in the back.
You don`t have to play stupid board games, even worse with other couples.
You don´t stay sober or have to hide your whole day drunkenness.
You don´t talk about back home or home sweet home or how is life back home. Who cares!
You just don´t talk.
Getting lost, you don´t argue who´s up next ask for a proper route and you don´t run in one of this nocuous moments. You just laugh, walk further even though to the end of the road. Discovering other, more options, cause options make you stronger, not snailing around in agony.
You don´t talk about peeing if you are stucked i a bus and are nearly, meaning half the way down your legs, pee yourself all over. You don´t get nasty about your partner who hasn´t taken the toilet or next corner, bush, possibility whatever, before boarding.
You don´t have to find someone who fits for both, escaping looping dialogs. You don´t have to worry because you haven´t spoken a word to each other more than a day.
You don´t have discussions about laundry and when to deliver.
You have just one motorbike to watch.
You sunburn your back by the lack of a person you want to get touched. You don´t get touched by a person you don´t want to and don´t have discussions for the next days about that bitchy fact.
You can stand at the edge of a waterfall, fall, depth or more fatal, not having rough minds about how it feels like being a heartless killer.
No fighting about the only hammock space.
No inner conflicts with the gentleman.
And you can commit the whole enchilada, bought during traveling, your partner, flying back home. So you can have shopping and backpacking, and stay lonesome and overbold.

There is no conclusion. Even the first couple i met was awesome – they didn´t used the term once.

So, if you get the point invariabel and you are female, write me a letter.

Foto

wet

Sometimes you don´t know if you are walking or drowning.
Khao Ra is the highest point of Koh Phangan, 627 meters, and pretends to offer magnificent views.
Started at 7 a.m., from the beach, a darkened line by a dumping froth of Zero, adopting the challenge seriously. Classified as a 2 to 4 hours walk to the top, expecting an hour to the bottom of Khao Ra and about a 2 hours trek up.
Two apples, a pack of nuts, 1,5 liter of water, so expecting an easy jungle hike. From Shambhala Bungalow Village to the bottom of the hill, so called highest point – “Pah! I am a bavarian guy from the alpine upland. 637 meter? I probably walk that on my hands”, it was a comfy good morning walk.
You can´t miss the starting point. If you are reaching from the Southwest like me, taking the main road to Ban Chalok Lam, nearby the Y-junction, turn right and expect the sign to Khao Ra Bungalows after about 200 m, turn left and follow the dirt road. At the Wat turn left again. After about 1 kilometer, at the main entrance, take the left path guiding up, which seems to be logic not to take the other path downwards.
On the way i picked up a bamboo bar, expected the movement guiding me in some kind of a wandering mood. At that point didn´t know what a gift this bar gonna be – you don´t need to be in the mood of surviving. Further i imagined fighting a Spider´s Web, Scorpions or Cobras, or one of these tiny teethfreakin dogs, protecting their territory, tryin, needled by the bamboo bar, to snap your lower legs.

So, the first steps on the dirt road up the hill were like all first steps. “Fuck, i´ll never get this done. Breath slowly, find rhythm, stay strong, take your time and use the power of the bar, get into the mood. Bullshitting.” Having crossed the bridge of the water reservoir, a sign briefs “Khao Ra 2km”.
The dirt road ends and the trek begins. The path is getting more narrow and unlighted.
I secured my camera in the bag, otherwise it would have been sponged by my floating limbs.
The bamboo bar turns more and more in some kind of a walker and the only possibility to avoid a break down. “Don´t sit down, you never will rise up.”
I felt the pressure of the last hundred packages of cigarettes inhaled the last week, sticking like a cork in my lungs. Even during my first dive after 7 years i didn´t had that feeling of breathing in a vacuum cleaner.
It was just overwhelming exhausting. Sweating. Perspiration. Exudation. All of a sudden.
Managed a couple of steps, needed a rest, hanging around the bar, the head beetween my elbows. Drunken of dizzyness and a lack of everything, near the point of collapsing into darkness.
Just forgot how rough it is to stand the effort in this climate.
Over roots and by muddy steps. Up. Fallen trees, lying there in peace, at-ease. Approaching felt like, “Hell! How may i pass that, i even can´t lift my leg transforming a footstep. First leg… first… as i felt the trunk under my ass, i went down, taking a silent ride on the trunk in peaceland. So again, resting, for how long who knows. Lost time. I supposed being really slow motion.
I won´t reach the top before noon.
Couldn´t stop sweating.
I am drowning in textile waterfall.
I can´t even remember the surrounding. I saw trees, huge plants, leaves and stone structures, but more like in that second, you recognize you are dead beat drunken and you have to puke or surrender to coma or both. Most of the time i saw roots stomped in mood. My muscles were burning, my head was a flaming lantern.
“Don´t release the bar. Only friend inside this sweating pot.”
Then there was light.
Earlier as i expected.
First thinking of a fata morgana, sparkling through the maze of exhaustion, glorious hope! – all caused by dehydration, having saved my water for… whatever for… Is this the end? Or the top? The redemption?

It was! As i reached the top i surrendered, just released myself, the bag, the bar and the sucking shirt. A wooden sign approved the arrival at the top of Khao Ra, with the great view over Koh Phangans bays and beaches. And surprise, the reward of this grand best fucked up trek was a view drowned in mist. To be honest, i wasn´t blaming at all. I was just glad to reached the end of this torture of a first trekking experience. Checked my watch, started at 7:15 a.m. from the beach, expected something like 11 a.m.. It was 9:03 a.m..
Again, i have to wonder about my ambitions about goals, bleeding the way through. I have to think about turning.
Downhill i enjoyed the silent colors, the fluttering treetops, the way of growth and protection.
And the bamboo kept me going.
I loved it!

Note: Don´t forget a towel to take with you!